A SON AT THE FRONT
Campton, "his. In Germany, for instance, as we're beginning to find out, the creative minds, the Intelligentsia (to use another of my wife's expressions), have been carefully protected from the beginning, given jobs, vitally important jobs of course, but where their lives were not exposed. The country needs them too much in other ways; they would probably be wretched fighters, and they're of colossal service in their own line. Whereas in France and England———" he suddenly seemed to see his chance——— "Well, look here, Mr. Campton, I appeal to you, I appeal to the great creative Artist: in any country but France and England, would a fellow of George's brains have been allowed, even at this stage of the war, to chuck an important staff job, requiring intellect, tact and savoir faire, and try to get himself killed like any unbaked boy—like your poor cousin Benny Upsher, for instance? Would he?"
"Yes—in America!" shouted Boylston; and Mr. Talkett's tallowy cheeks turned pink.
"George knows how I feel about these things," he stammered.
George still laughed in his remote impartial way, and Boylston asked with a grin: "Why don't you get yourself naturalized—a neutral?"
Mr. Talkett's pinkness deepened. "I have lived too much among Artists———" he began; and George interrupted gaily: "There's a lot to be said on Talkett's
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